“Ah! Bought it there and then. And how much did he give you for it?” asked Spargo. “Something handsome, I hope?”
“Couple o’ quid,” replied Mollison. “Me not wishing to part with a family heirloom for less.”
“Just so. And do you happen to be able to tell me the old cove’s name and his address, Mollison?” asked Spargo.
“I do, sir. Which they’ve painted on his entry—the fifth or sixth as you go down Middle Temple Lane,” answered Mollison. “Mr. Nicholas Cardlestone, first floor up the staircase.”
Spargo rose from his seat without as much as a look at Breton.
“Come this way, Mollison,” he said. “We’ll go and see about your little reward. Excuse me, Breton.”
Breton kicked his heels in solitude for half an hour. Then Spargo came back.
“There—that’s one matter settled, Breton,” he said. “Now for the next. The Home Secretary’s made the order for the opening of the grave at Market Milcaster. I’m going down there at once, and I suppose you’re coming. And remember, if that grave’s empty——”
“If that grave’s empty,” said Breton, “I’ll tell you—a good deal.”